This is You on Oreos
by WakaLakaAlchemist
Summary: What happens when the Bad Touch Trio, Germany, Italy, America, and Sealand get together? They go on a quest to find some delicious Oreos, of course. PURE CRACK.


**This is You on Oreos**

**Genre: **CRACK  
**Rating: **T+  
**Warnings: **Language, smex, and everyone's on drugs.  
**Pairings:** GermanyxItaly, hinted USxUK and SpainxRomano  
**A/N:**** This fic is bipolar. It goes from pure crack to romance then back to crack.**

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"What it is brah?"

"Sealand, for the love of God, stop acting like Justin Bieber. It doesn't work for either of you."

America leaned against a tree in some British park, massaging his temples. Somehow England had convinced him to babysit the little brat (did it have something to do with the fact that he'd been wearing nothing but an apron when he'd asked? Maybe). This was not his idea of a good time, and for the past hour the younger Kirkland had been speaking gangster. Or at least trying to.

"Don't be hatin', brah! You gon' help me take out dat bastard England, right?" It really didn't help that Peter still had a British accent. He sounded _awful_.

"OH HAI LOOK IT'S PRUSSIA" America pointed, hoping to distract the micro-nation from sounding like a douche.

"Prussia? I heard…that…motherfucker had like…five goddamn meters," Sealand nodded.

_Oh dear god shoot me now._

"Sealand, do you even know what they mean by 'five meters'?" America inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Um…of course I do! Now what do they mean?" Sealand said. He turned to face America, hands on his hips and striking a defiant pose. Was Alfred this bad when he was a kid? If so, he'd have to apologize to Arthur the next time he got the chance. Or not. He was too awesome for that.

"It means five meters of w—"

Alfred was interrupted by a large, shrill roar that surprised them both. They turned to see it came from Prussia's freakish chick Gilbird, which seemed to be possessed.

"The awesome me has decided to grace you all with my presence! It's not like I'm bored or lonely or anything! Really! I'm just…um…around…and…" Gilbert trailed off. He then broke down and began crying hysterically about being all alone and other stuff that no one cares about. Sealand and America just kind of stared at him with trace amounts of pity, disgust, and peanuts.

"What a loser."

"Fo' sho'."

"Goddamnit Sealand you're not black."

"I'm an inside-out Oreo! Ore-ore-o!" Peter laughed.

"Did zomeone zay Oreos?" France said, climbing out of a bush. "We just got Oreos in my country, you know!"

America looked at him like he was on fire and said, "Are you kidding me? You're _just now_ getting Oreos? You've been totally missing out. Life does not start until you've had an Oreo."

Prussia sat up suddenly and said, "Yeah, Oreos are great, man! Especially the double-stuffed ones! I could get high off that shit!"

"Someone phone a bitch to bring us some goddamn Oreos!" Sealand whined. Now they were hungry and it was all Peter's fault.

France then proceeded to phone a bitch who answered with an airy "Sí?"

"Espagne! Zer eez a dire emergency!"

"¿Qué?"

"Ze Oreos! Zey have gone!" France said, waving his arms around like a windmill. Then Spain leapt out of the same bush France had been hiding in and shouted "WHAAAAAT"

"You were here ze whole time?" France asked, staring at him blankly.

"Well NOW what we gon' do?"

"Your mom!"

"Go cry in a corner Prussia."

"NO U"

Then America got this super genius idea. He suggested that they go to Canada's house because he probably had some. After Francis and Alfred explained to the others who Canada was, they were off to the airport. Italy called Spain right before he left saying he was bored and Germany and Romano refused to admit they were too, so they decided to join the group and now there were like eight people.

"This the new G8?" Sealand exclaimed, excited to the point of cracking his voice cause he was finally going through puberty.

"Italy and Romano are ze same country," France said, shaking his head.

"GODDAMMIT!"

"Watch your language!" Antonio laughed. "So yeah Italy, are you going to meet us here in England?" There was a pause on the other end before Spain confirmed that no, England was not there, no, he hadn't cooked anything, and no, he wasn't going to eat Italy's soul.

"Okaaay!" Italy said. "Ciao Spagne!"

Smiling, Spain shut his phone and threw it out the window.

"Y u do that" Prussia asked.

Spain stared at him, still smiling, and said nothing. Gilbert crawled into a corner and cried. Just then Italy and Germany appeared, Italy informing them that Romano refused to come because Germany, Spain, Prussia, and France were going to be there and that was just pure torture. Antonio almost cried man. He asked to borrow someone's phone to call the older Italian, but no one wanted to lend theirs because they didn't want their phones thrown out the window. So Spain used a pay phone and spoke very soothingly to Romano, while the latter just yelled into the phone. Antonio whispered something so the others couldn't here and the other end went silent.

"Te amo Lovi!" Spain sang. He then yanked the cord out of the phone booth and THREW IT ON THE GROUUUUND.

"What did you tell him to calm him down?" Alfred asked.

"I told him I'd bring back tomatoes and some lovin'!"

Sealand snorted. "Whazzat s'pposed to mean?"

"It means I'm going to fu—"

"When does the flight leave?" Germany demanded, more to interrupt the passionate Spaniard from corrupting Peter than to actually know when they were supposed to board the plane.

America looked at his watch and said "HOLY SHIT IT LEAVES IN TEN SECONDS!"

They all gasped and looked at the wall clock, only to make a startling discovery.

"America. We have ten _minutes,_" Germany corrected.

"Damn. Always got the second and minute hands confused."

Ludwig decided not to comment on how the second hand moves much faster than the minute hand and that is not something you should be confused about when Prussia tackled him.

"Oi, West! Have you come to join us in our epic quest for Oreos?" he said, pinning his bruder to the ground with his boot.

Italy wondered momentarily why Prussia had taken off his boot to place it on Germany's chest.

Taking the boot and throwing it across the hall, Germany shouted in a manly voice that almost made poor Feli wet his pants. "THAT'S what you're doing? I've come all the way to England to ride a plane to Canada to get _Oreos?_ Feliciano! You told me this was diplomatic!"

"NOT EVERYTHING CAN BE DIPLOMATIC OKAY LUDWIG. Sometimes you gotta have fun, let loose, enjoy yourself! You're so uptight! This will be so much fun, you'll see!" Italy said, pinning Germany to the ground again and straddling him. France, Spain, and Prussia suddenly felt very jealous.

"Feli, how would you like to join ze mile high club~?" Francis said, grinning suggestively. Prussia nodded excitedly while Spain just looked confused.

"Veee, what kind of club is it~? Is it fun?" Feliciano asked, still rooted to his spot. Germany sat up in alarm, eliciting a surprised squeak from the Italian. He made one of his incomprehensible sounds of joy and wrapped his arms around his friend.

"Italy, you are not joining the mile hi—_that club_. Bruder, France, I'd advise you to not recruit him," Germany said, shooting them a glare.

The two snickered and waved their hands dismissively. "Sure, sure, Luddy, he's all yours."

Germany stood, pulling Italy up with him, and changed the subject again. "We had better head for the plane. It will be leaving any minute now."

"_Alemania_, you look just like a tomato!" Antonio cooed.

"Ain't that the truth!"

America dragged Sealand by his sailor suit collar thing to the exit. When they had boarded the plane, Germany asked, "So who got the tickets?"

"I did, while you guys were having your love fest. We're lucky no one goes to Canada, or else the flight would have been sold out for waiting so long!" Alfred said. He was seated next to Sealand. Across the aisle were Germany and Italy, and behind them were Prussia, Spain, and France. With only two seats they really weren't supposed to be doing that, but the Bad Touch Trio is too cool for rules. Hell yeah.

While the voice over the speaker was informing them how to not die in case of an emergency, France proceeded to remove his clothes and Spain started to eat a tomato that had materialized from nowhere. Italy continuously asked Germany what the mile high club was and Sealand did the same, making it hard for Gilbert and Alfred to suppress their laughter. After ten minutes of flirting with the passenger behind him, France informed his fellow nations that a club meeting was about to begin. He and the passenger disappeared to the back of the plane, leaving Feliciano and Peter even more curious. When Italy said he wanted to see what the club was like, Germany blushed furiously and held him down to his seat.

"You do _not_ want to see what they're doing, Feli. Trust me, it'll scar you for life," Gilbert laughed.

"Ve, Germanyyyyy, I'm bored!" Italy whined, bouncing in his seat.

"Please, Feliciano, just…can you be calm for just this once?" Germany said, his eyes squeezed shut. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

"Damn, Italy, you got problems. Why can't you be cool like yo' mafia?" Sealand said.

"They're not my mafia, they're Romano's!" Italy said stubbornly. This wasn't true, but Italy is not a part of your system so oh what now betch.

Arms folded, he settled on pouting for a while until he turned to America.

"Americaaaa~ Will you tell me what the mile high club is?" he asked, batting his eyes innocently.

Seeing as Italy was older than him, he saw no harm in telling, and Germany was too busy massaging his face to reprimand him. Once he'd finished explaining and making sure Sealand couldn't hear, Italy's grin grew wide.

"Wooow, that's neat! I've never thought of that before!" He turned to Germany, who was wondering what he and America had been talking about. "Ve, Ludwig, why didn't you tell me what it was? It sounds like so much fun!"

Germany looked confused, so Italy clarified.

"Germany, let's join the mile high club!"

* * *

"Would you like me to get some more water?" the flight attendant asked.

"Sí, sí, muchas gracias," Spain said. He placed a cool, wet towel on Ludwig's forehead. The moment Italy's words had registered in his brain, he'd blacked out completely. France had come back in time to hear, much to Germany's eventual embarrassment. When he woke up, of course.

"Y'all be hatin'. Just 'cos I'm a kid don't mean I can't know adult things!" Sealand pouted, much as Italy had been doing moments before.

"Okay kid, you know what? Go ask your mom what it is. I'm sure Finland would be happy to tell you," Prussia said.

Sealand was more than happy to agree to this. France and America felt a little sorry for Finland, but only a little. Come on, it was hilarious. Picture it. Finland, Sweden and Sealand having a nice family dinner when out of the blue, little Peter asks what the mile high club is. Francis wasn't sure if Sweden would hunt down and murder whoever had told Sealand the word or thank them for the reaction it would gain from Finland.

Anyway. Italy decided sitting on Germany's lap would be fun, so when Ludwig woke up, he nearly passed out again.

"Italy! What are you doing?"

"Ve, Germany, your lap is so warm~" Italy said happily and started bouncing again. Well that was…arousing. Wait, no, that's not what he meant! Not. Of course that's what he meant. Germany stood up right then and there, grabbed Italy's hand, and made his way to the back of the plane. Feliciano was confused at first, but soon caught on and started skipping alongside the flustered German. "Bye guys! This might take a while!" he chirped to his fellow nations. France and Prussia cat-called and cheered until the bathroom door slammed shut while America gagged and Sealand and Spain busied themselves with a coloring book Prussia had stolen from a six-year-old.

The flight from London to Toronto was like seven hours so they were all as tired and pissy as hell. You'd think they were going through menopause. Jesus Christ.

Germany and Italy only returned when the pilot announced that they would be, like, landing soon and everyone should, like, totally take a seat. Italy looked incredibly happy and disheveled, while Germany looked as if he were ready to commit suicide. He desperately hoped Romano would not be hearing about this little adventure from his brother.

"Germanyyyy, that was fun~! We should do it again on the way back!"

"_God_, man, you're not even trying to hide it now," America said.

And suddenly Peter got it because most boys by the age of twelve probably know what doing it means.

"Ew, that's…how does that even _work?"_ he said.

Italy smiled and bent down in front of Sealand like he was about to teach him a lifelong lesson. Then he cringed because bending down kind of hurt like a mother. "See, first he kissed me all ov—"

"Sir, please take a seat," a flight attendant said from behind him. "I think we all heard what happened, you weren't very quiet about it."

Spain looked over at Italy curiously. "Yes…Italy, I heard you screaming. Are you okay?"

France slapped Spain for being so oblivious and Italy took his seat next to Germany. "Yeah, I feel great!" Feliciano replied. Germany slammed his face into the chair in front of him repeatedly, hoping to give himself a concussion.

And then the plane landed right then and there because I said so and everyone got off in like two seconds. The pilot was totally exhausted so he went to, like, go shopping at the Canadian Forever 21. For realz.

So Italy, America, France, Spain, Prussia, Germany, and Sealand went to Canada's house but he wasn't home. Or maybe he was. Nobody really cared. America kicked down his brother's front door with his awesome skills and they all filed into the house. There were pancakes sitting on the kitchen table so Prussia started eating them because that dude really likes pancakes. I don't know why. Then they ransacked Canada's kitchen with Germany standing by the door keeping watch, or more likely just trying to stay as far away from everyone as possible. Italy hung onto his arm and watched the spectacle with slight interest before joining in himself.

"What the fuck is this shit."

All eyes turned towards Italy. Had he really just said that? Or had Romano sneaked in and taken his place while they weren't looking? Spain kind of hoped so, because otherwise this would be scary. Angry, swearing Italy was fifteen times more frightening than angry, swearing Romano, because Romano was always like that.

Italy was holding a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese, gripping so tightly it looked like it might spontaneously combust.

"Oh snap. Guys, he found the offensive Mac 'n' Cheese, we'd better GEE TEE EF OH," America said.

"What?"

"GET THE FUCK OUT."

"Well gosh América, you don't gotta be so harsh."

"Shut up Spain."

"We should probably heed America's advice for once…"

"Ohhh shit, we gon' die ain't we?"

"_Je suis trop beau pour mourir!"_

"HAWT DAYUM I AM SO AWESOME."

Germany got tired of everyone being stupid and tried to calm down Italy, whose face was getting darker and darker by the minute.

"He dares disgrace my pasta in such a manner? That…that…"

"Canada."

"That _Canada_…will pay. Ah, thank you big brother France," Italy smiled sweetly at the Frenchman before glaring at the box again.

"Look, Italy, I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. We all have our different cultures," Germany said.

"That's right! Canadians happen to work longer hours, more days, and actually just work more than Italians in general, so don't you think we deserve to be lazy when it comes to cooking?"

"Oh mein gott, where did that voice come from?" Prussia asked.

"I don't know! It's scary though!" Spain said.

"What? Is it a ghost?" America shrieked in a manly way. But when he actually turned to where that rant had come from it was just his little brother. "Man, Canada, don't scare me like that!"

"Who?"

"CANADA MOTHERFUCKER. And put that Kraft back, goddamnit!"

Italy and Canada had a short I-will-kill-you-with-my-stare contest before they both shrugged and gave each other a big hug because that's how they roll.

"Canada, do you have any Oreos?" Antonio asked.

"Sorry, no, I just ran out last week," he replied.

"UNACCEPTABLE," Prussia said, slamming a fork on the plate that formerly contained pancakes.

"Y…you ate my pancakes?" Matthew said, starting to tear up. Then America punched Gilbert in the face because only he could make his brother cry. And France did too for good measure. Then Germany kicked Francis in the gut 'cause he had no reason to hit his precious bruder.

"B'AAAWWW Alfred why do you have to hit people?" Canada cried.

"'Cause you're a pansy."

"BOO HOO CRAI CRAI"

"Man, I'm out. This wuss is bringin' me down." Sealand shook his head and left, Germany following after him and Italy, Prussia, and Spain bounding close behind. France stayed to calm down Canada and probably rape him while he was at it, and America hung around to make sure that didn't happen. They left when they got bored and met up with the others at a grocery store, which was decidedly the best place to get Oreos.

Sealand, Italy, and America raced around on carts while France flirted with every lonely mother within range, Spain stared at small children, and Prussia stole an old lady's wheelchair.

Germany went to the snack aisle and chose a few boxes of the delectable chocolate cookies, and got a few things he needed as well.

"GERMANY GERMANY GERMANY GUESS WHAT?" Italy came careening through the aisle towards Ludwig, who sidestepped him just in time. Italy crashed into a display full of gross Canadian food and jumped up happily.

"What is it, Italy?"

"Your brother is getting arrested. Ooh, ooh, can we get a puppy?" Feliciano said excitedly.

"Wait, what? What did he do this time?"

"Um, um, he stuffed a bunch of food in his pants and stole some lady's wheelchair and flipped off the guy at the register and yelled that he would seize everyone's vital regions…"

"I didn't hear any of this." Though he supposed he was tuning everything out.

"Can we get a puppy?"

"I already have three dogs," Ludwig sighed exasperatedly.

Italy pouted and gave Germany little puppy dog eyes that made him think, _I already have a puppy right here_, but of course he'd never say that out loud. What he did say was that he'd think about it, which made the Italian immensely happy, so much so that he jumped on Ludwig, throwing his arms around his neck. Germany was not prepared for this and fell back, but goddamn his ass is like an armored tank you don't even know, so it didn't hurt or anything.

Feliciano blinked at having captured the German and let out a happy "Ve~". He leaned forward and kissed Germany's nose shyly, then rested their foreheads together. "See, Germany, this was so much fun~!" he said.

A smile tugged at the corner of Germany's mouth as he wrapped his arms around his little Italian. Italy pecked his lips then, much to Germany's surprise, bit down _hard_. Ludwig glared, making Feliciano giggle. He licked where he'd bitten Germany's lower lip, but Germany was not about to let him take control. He flipped them over suddenly so Italy was underneath him and effectively shoved his tongue down his throat. Italy mewled into the kiss sweetly, closing his eyes and blindly reaching for Ludwig's belt…

"Oh ew. Can I get someone else to bail me out?"

Germany got up quickly and Italy attempted to do the same, but slipped and fell three times in the process.

Prussia stood with his hands held behind his back by a very disturbed police officer, who was attempting to look at anything but the two flustered Europeans standing before them. It wasn't working.

"Dude, I'm going to have to deal with this every day. They just had sex on a plane. Cut me some slack, do you know how much torture this is?" Prussia pleaded. The officer gave him a look that said _I didn't need to hear that._ He sighed and released him, if only to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Don't do it again," he said, and bolted out of the grocery store.

Sealand ran toward them asking what happened but they ignored him.

"Where are America, France, and Spain?" Germany asked.

"Hell if I know," Peter shrugged.

So their next journey was searching for those guys. They found Spain seated on the floor telling a Spanish folktale to a bunch of toddlers. In Spanish. So they had no idea what the fudge muffins he was saying. The child seated on his lap looked eerily like Lovino when he was little, so Prussia quickly pried the boy away before Spain could do anything pedo-ish and Germany told them all to go back to their parents. Italy and Sealand looked like they were about to wander off, so Gilbert and Ludwig gave them piggyback rides through the store.

America was piling layers of soda and junk food into a cart. Prussia seemed very happy about this. Especially since Oreos were included.

They searched the entire store until the only places left to look were the storage rooms and the restrooms. Since France would never degrade himself enough to use a public restroom in a grocery store, they checked the back and were not very shocked to find him tied up and gagged in a closet. No one bothered asking how he'd gotten like that, though Francis whined about it the whole way to the register. When they realized they were not in possession of Canadian money, they did nothing for like five minutes before America's phone rang. He answered and immediately gave the phone to Spain with a look of sympathy.

"Lovi, how are you? I miss you~ …Eh? What do you mean? …Oh. Well, I won't be able to come home until we pay for this, and we don't have money from…"

"Canada."

"…Canada!"

Antonio listened to the phone for a few seconds, nodding at some points, and handed it to the man at the register.

"LISTEN, YOU FUCKER, YOU'D BETTER LET THEM GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE BECAUSE I'M GODDAMN HUNGRY AND I WILL TEAR OPEN YOUR FUCKING STOMACH WITH A SPORK AND STRANGLE YOU WITH YOUR OWN WORTHLESS INTESTINES, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Silence overcame them and the man simply stared at the phone.

"…Or do you want the mafia on you?" Romano added.

The man swallowed and handed the phone back to Spain.

"Thank you, Lovi, but that was really scary!" Antonio said.

"Whatever. Just hurry up and get home, asswipe."

"Aww, are you worried about me, _querido_?"

And then the line went dead. So Spain threw the phone at the register guy's face. Alfred left a twenty on the counter and they all left, ignoring the alarms going off. The police were probably going to be like super pissed at them.

Knowing full well what would happen if they stayed, they drove to America's house in Matthew's car which they borrowed without asking and had a sweet rave party with Oreos and glow sticks and strobe lights at the White House. Barack Obama and Vladimir Putin and David Cameron and Evgeni Plushenko and all the cool people were there. You should have seen it man. It was amazing. See Korea and Hong Kong came, and they had these paper bags, see, and then they—naw, you had to be there. There are no words to describe the amazingness of that very event.

But when they woke up they all had a hangover except for Obama because he's too awesome for that and Putin because that guy's not even human holy shit. They all agreed that that was the sweetest party they had ever been to and everyone decided it was stupid to fight and the world's problems were solved. And those Oreos were fucking delicious.

**THE END.**

**A/N: It's a well-known fact that Europeans get much more vacation time than North Americans, so I felt the need for Canada to rant about that. All he complains about is America, so they need to be on the same side for once. Gosh I was mean to Canada…You'd better appreciate that, Steph :I Italians get an average of 42 days of paid vacation per year, Canadians receive 26, and Americans have **_**ten to thirteen.**_

**Yes, it's good that we have all these hard-workers in the U.S., but **_**dang**_** how I would love to work in Italy ;-; But I had loads of fun with this. Honestly I was surprised at all the GerIta I had, because this was supposed to be pure crack and the mile high club was the farthest it went in terms of romance. Although that isn't very romantic. **

**You like? You no like? Let me know and  
****R  
****E  
****V  
****I  
****E  
****W  
****s'il vous plaît!**

**Also…**_** "Je suis trop beau pour mourir!" **_**That's probably wrong, I've only been taking French for two years, but bad grammar is used throughout this entire story. I'm not too worried about it.**

**Yeah, I had to edit this and reupload it because the obvious grammatical errors were bugging me...**


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